The Daily Prophet
by LuMaria
Summary: Ron vows to be mature, Draco vows to get Ron riled up, and Crabbe and Goyle vow to make Draco realise what's in front of him. CHAPTER 6 NOW UP.
1. The Underestimated Crabbe and Goyle

****

Pairing: Ron/Draco, Ron/Hermione (hinted)

Rating: R (for later chapters)

Spoilers: Uhm, none, I think.

Author's note: I should probably point out right now that this is something I told Jaime (SnoopyPez) that I'd do simply because she wanted to have a place to read it. This fic (almost the whole awful thing) was done piece by piece in IM conversations with her, and it shows. If it appears choppy, that is why. And this is really just an experimental fanfiction, so review if you wish, but I already know how bad it is. J If you want good fic, go read "I'm Not In Denial" by MamaLaz. That is all.

And now….

THE DAILY PROPHET

By: LuMaria

**The Underestimated Crabbe and Goyle**

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Draco Malfoy curled his lip in what he hoped came across as severe annoyance. His acquaintances, Crabbe and Goyle, who stood at the door, stared at him blankly as if he'd just said merely "hello". Draco sighed and tapped his foot on the cold floor of the dormitory he shared with the two oafs, crossing his arms over his small chest. "Well? When I say meet me at nine o'clock, I mean meet me at bloody nine! Not five minutes after!"

"Sorry," said Crabbe, shrugging. The action made his whole body seem to jiggle unpleasantly, and Draco was suddenly reminded of a giant bowl of the Blancmange his mother often insisted on the house-elves making when guests came for parties. Draco never really liked to eat it, and the new association with Crabbe's body movements ensured he would never eat it again.

"Sorry? That's it? Well, it's a good thing I wasn't in mortal peril in here, or I'd be dead for sure, what with waiting on you two for half an hour," Draco shook his head, swinging his blonde hair out of his eyes. "I've been wanting to show you something since I saw it in the Daily Prophet today. Look." He held the newspaper clipping out, and the two buffoons looked at each other, but neither of them moved toward him. "Well? Did you hear me? Or did McGonagall transfigure your ears off today in that detention you had?"

"Well..." Goyle started, scratching his bristly head slowly. He looked at Crabbe for some sort of assistance. "It's just..."

"Well, is it about..." Crabbe fidgeted, looking only slightly less fidgety than his friend. 

"What are you on about?" Draco drawled, dropping his outstretched hand, still clutching the article. He backed up and sat on his bed without looking behind him. "You both look like you're going to faint. Snap out of it," he commanded, raising his pointy face, his chin jutting up higher. "Come read this."

There was again no response from the burly boys by the door. Draco was getting seriously annoyed, they usually just did whatever he told them to do. It was an unspoken agreement they had reached at a very young age, and he was not pleased to see that they were not upholding the agreement at this particular moment. "What is wrong with you two?"

"It's just that...well...we're sick of reading about Potter and Weasley." Crabbe stood up straight, and crossed his arms, looking down at the shorter Slytherin boy. 

"What?" Draco's steely gray eyes narrowed. "Explain, please? How exactly do you know what this article's about?"

"You only clip articles about Potter or Weasley or Weasley's family," replied Goyle with a short shrug. "We took a guess."

"Have you been drinking some sort of Stupidity Draught?" sneered Draco,clenching his fists , the article falling on the floor. "Not everything I show you is related to Potter and Weasley." 

Crabbe leaned over and picked up the fallen article. He began to read aloud, lumbering through the words at an agonizingly slow pace. 

**__**

New Minister of Magic Appointed

Arthur Weasley, former head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was appointed as new Minister of Magic on Wednesday, writes Digglesby Dartman. "I suppose I haven't thought about it much," Weasley said to reporters when asked how he felt about his new position. "Right now I'm just focusing on getting us through the War, not on my social or political standing."

Though many Ministry officials have offered words of support and congratulations to the new Minister, some critics feel that the Ministry made the wrong decision.

"It's an outrage," said one prominent wizard with ties to the Ministry, who chose to remain anonymous. "If they thought the Ministry was shoddy with Fudge at the head, just imagine what it'll be like with a blunderer like Weasley running it." 

Cornelius Fudge was removed from the position three months ago after being declared insane from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. Weasley has been filling in as Acting Minister of Magic since Fudge's removal.

"There's more," Crabbe said with a frown, "but I think we've seen all we need to see."

"No," Draco said impatiently, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "The 'prominent' wizard is Father, so I wanted to show you--"

"Come on, Draco, you don't have to cover up for us. If you fancy Weasley, that's your business--" Goyle's words were stopped by Draco's foot stamping on the floor. He looked like he was about to throw a terrible tantrum.

"WHAT are you TALKING about? I don't fancy Weasley! You've both gone mad!" Draco snatched the article from Crabbe's stumpy hand and backed away a few steps. "You're completely off your trolley, both of you! And since when do you string together whole sentences?!"

"He thinks we're stupid," said Gregory Goyle with a smirk.

"You know, I think you're right, Goyle" said Vincent Crabbe.

Draco clenched his fists and looked down at the floor, mentally counting to ten. He closed his eyes briefly. _*When I open my eyes, I'll just be waking from a dream. Crabbe and Goyle will be the same idiots as always, sharing one brain cell between them, and I'll not have just been accused of fancying Ron Weasley.*_

He opened his eyes.

He wasn't dreaming. Crabbe and Goyle were still smirking at him, and they both turned toward the door. "We'll let you get back to daydreaming about Weasley," Crabbe said.

"Or Potter," sniggered Goyle.

"Or both!" they gasped at the same time, laughing madly as they exited the room, leaving a very flustered and confused boy behind them.

"They've gone mental! Or maybe...maybe I've gone mental," Draco muttered, sitting once again on his bed and burying his face in his hands. Surely his simpleton friends weren't right. He was sure there had been lots of times he had shown them clippings and articles that weren't about Potty and Weasel, or one of their friends. 

He thought about it. He thought some more. Then he thought about it again. He groaned.

His friends were right. Everything he saved was Potter/Weasley related.

Bloody hell. Was he obsessed?


	2. Porridge and Potions

****

Pairing: Ron/Draco later, Ron/Hermione (hinted right now)

Rating: R (for later chapters, this is more PG or PG-13)

Spoilers: None. 

Author's note: I forgot to mention that this WILL BE SLASH LATER. If you don't like SLASH, then don't read after chapter two, because IT WILL BE SLASH. SLASH. As in Ron. And Draco. Both boys. Having much fun together. If you catch my drift, and I'm throwing it pretty hard.

Thanks to Jaime, who keeps reading this blather.

THE DAILY PROPHET

Chapter 2

****

Porridge and Potions

__

"Caerius," muttered Crabbe, flicking the point of his wand at Draco, then swishing it to point directly at Ron. Suddenly, as if tripped by an invisible foot, Draco fell quite ungracefully on Ron, causing the redhead to spit every bit of milk he'd just gulped back out onto Hermione . Since she was in mid-sentence, she was not very happy, and repeatedly spat to get the milk out of her mouth. 

"God, Ron! If you didn't want to hear what I had to say about the elves, you should've just said so!" 

Ron turned his head and was eye-to-chest with Draco Malfoy, who looked as if he couldn't decide whether to run for his life, sneer, or blush to the tips of his hair. Ron stood abruptly, causing Draco to fall onto his backside, again ungracefully. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Draco scrambled to his feet. "I didn't do anything. I was just walking, and your abnormally large head knocked me over," he scowled.

Ron grabbed the front of Draco's now disheveled robes, and brought his arm back to prepare a serious punch. Once his fist was back, though, he suddenly realized there wasn't a Hermione holding his arm or robe. His head swiveled to the brunette, and he noticed she was using a napkin to dab milk out of her hair. She glanced up. "Don't let me stop you," she sniffed, apparently still angry that her long sob speech about elves had been interrupted. 

Ron was miffed. He let go of Draco's robes, his confusion showing on his face as he looked toward Harry, who hadn't even looked up from his porridge, and was muttering things like "had the snitch" and "damn bloody gnomes". Ron wrinkled his brow in thought. Harry was getting stranger every day.

"Oi, are you going to hit me or not, Weasley?" Draco's drawl snapped Ron back to reality. The blonde was looking at his nails with great interest. "Make it fast, if you do, so I'll have time to wash your filth off before I go to lessons."

Throwing one last look at Hermione, who was now lecturing Harry on why he shouldn't hate "damn bloody gnomes" but respect them, Ron shook his head. "You're not worth it, Malfoy."

"What a surprise. A Weasley making a hasty retreat." Malfoy's triumphant smirk was so brilliant it could probably be seen across the Quidditch pitch. "Oh, well, come on," he motioned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Let's go to Potions. I don't plan to make Snape wait two hours like I did for you two last night, let's go."

Ron fumed as Draco walked out, flanked by his two huge fellow Slytherins. Why was Malfoy so bloody insufferable? And why on earth hadn't he punched him? It would have been worth it, even if the teachers were present and would probably give him a year's worth of detentions. So why hadn't he acted?

"I'm telling you, Harry, gnomes are people, too!" Hermione was saying indignantly, slamming her spoon into her porridge and sending a glob flying into the air. It landed on Seamus Finnigan's hair with a *splat*.

"Hey, you know, if you rearrange the letters of gnome, you get 'menog'," Harry said brightly. Hermione and Ron looked at each other. Ron spoke first.

"Hey, how many feet did you fall off your broom in that last Quidditch match?" he asked.

"Fifty!" Harry said brightly, and Hermione sighed. 

"Maybe you should give up Quidditch, Harry, I think you knocked something loose," she said with concern.

Ron's attention to Harry waned as he thought more about Draco and how he hadn't beaten the Slytherin to a pulp. The truth was, he was starting to get really bored of Draco's constant verbal assaults. They were in seventh year, why on earth couldn't the pointy-faced git just grow up? Ron decided he wouldn't let Malfoy get to him anymore. 

__

"Yes," Ron thought silently, _"I'll just ignore him. Nothing makes Malfoy madder than when he's not being paid any attention." _He dug back into his now-cold breakfast, content with this new, mature plan. At least Hermione would be proud, he'd make sure she noticed that he wouldn't be pushed to violence by Draco Malfoy anymore. He watched her as she lectured Harry on how Quidditch was harmful to gnomes and elves, smiling thinly_. "And maybe once I get rid of Malfoy's unwanted attention, I can get Hermione to pay me some of hers."_

****

**** ****

Draco strutted out of the Great Hall, vaguely aware that Crabbe and Goyle were still walking behind him, and he relaxed a little, glad to be headed to his favourite class, Double Potions. Try as he might, he still couldn't get over the feeling of happiness he got every time Snape deducted points from those stupid Gryffindors, and he'd especially look forward to it today. 

"That Weasley oaf," Draco muttered under his breath, "knocking me down and making me look stupid. Well, nobody makes Draco Malfoy look stupid and gets away with it." He stopped walking and turned, aware that his cohorts were suddenly chuckling very loudly. "What's up with you two?"

"Nothing," grunted Crabbe, still snickering. "Just thinking about how you fell on Weasley."

"I suppose everything I do is a big joke to you, is it?" Draco clenched his fists at his sides, but as the other two boys were well beyond his height, he opted to simply put on his meanest face, which sent Goyle into near-hysterics. "Stop it!" he commanded. "Stop laughing!"

The laughter didn't stop.

"Stop it, I'm getting brassed off! I'll have Father owl your fathers and tell them--" Draco shut his mouth, as both of the huge boys had stopped all chortling at the mere mention of their fathers. "I thought so. Come on, I want to get to Potions early." Draco hadn't taken two steps more before a tawny owl swooped across the hall and perched on his shoulder painfully, dropping a copy of the Daily Prophet into his hands. He pocketed it in his robes, pretending not to hear the renewed snickering from Crabbe and Goyle. He'd just have to read it under his table in Potions lesson, and hopefully there'd be something he could use to taunt Weasley. The freckled git had it coming to him, and he'd get it good. It was times like these that Draco was glad he only sat two feet away from the redhead.

******

"Hey Weasley," Draco's whispered voice practically oozed over to Ron's side of the table of it's own accord. "I think I've solved all your money problems."

Ron continued to grind his gallywoot without comment, pretending not to hear the Slytherin. The crimson that crept into his ears betrayed him once again, proving that he was very definitely listening. Draco, who noticed this, smirked. 

"I've found some want ads you might want to respond to. Listen. ' _Wanted: Cage cleaner at Magical Menagerie. Must provide own gloves. Must be able to work long hours and be good with animals. Owl Mundgarius Blodger for details_.' " Draco waited a long moment before saying anything, noticing that Ron was now pounding the gallywoot in a manner that suggested he might be picturing the Slytherin's head under the pestle.

"Why, it's perfect for you," Draco said almost cheerfully. "You'd be dealing in filth, just like you're used to with that Mudblood bitch. Oh, and look here--" Draco said quickly as Ron pushed his chair out with a loud scraping sound, luckily not drawing Snape's attention. "'It says here there's an opening for a gutter cleaner."

Ron was now breathing so heavily that he was making a soft wheezing sound, and he gripped his pestle so hard that Draco was surprised it didn't just turn to dust. "What's the matter, Weasley? Think cleaning gutters is too classy a job for you? You may just be right." 

Ron stood quickly, and the smiling Slytherin prepared himself for the attack of the Weasel. Much to Draco's surprise, however, Ron dropped the pestle, leaned over to whisper something Harry, and suddenly the two Gryffindors were switching places. 

Draco furrowed his brow in angry bewilderment. Potter? He'd have to sit by Potter now? And why the hell didn't Weasley try to attack him? It usually happened that way. No, no, Draco was confused now, and he hated being confused. 

"Potter! Weasley! Twenty points from Gryffindor for standing up in my class," Snape said nastily from Neville Longbottom's cauldron. Draco couldn't even take pleasure in Snape's comment. Weasley had spoiled all his fun, and for the rest of class Draco sat in a sullen silence, looking up from his cauldron only when Snape praised him for concocting such a wonderful Dancing Draught.

He might've been mistaken, but as the Gryffindors and Slytherins emptied out of Snape's dungeon classroom, Draco could've sworn Weasley smirked at him. In triumph. 


	3. Green Velvet, If You Please

****

THE DAILY PROPHET 

Pairing: Ron/Draco

Rating: Uhm, R, right now. I guess.

Spoilers: Uhm..nothing.

Author's note: Don't read this, Jaime! Your poor innocent eyes! :P This is entirely Draco, there's not any of the Trio (but uh, Draco thinks about a member of the trio a lot, so…yeah.) Thanks to the reviews I've gotten so far on the first two chapters. This one isn't quite…comedic…but I plan to have it a little more light on the next chapter. If there is one. And it's short. It'll be long next time.

****

THIS WILL BE A SLASH FIC, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Chapter 3: Green Velvet, If You Please

(or Draco Wakes Up and Smells the Pumpkin Juice)

A visit to Hogsmeade was a wonderful experience for a student of any year, especially between Hallowe'en and Christmas, when the air was crisp and cold and the fallen leaves crunched beneath hundreds of feet. The shops were always a warm contrast to the chill outside, and there were always so many people around that the feeling of cheer seemed to spread to each and every individual in the small village. Traditionally, the Saturday closest to Hallowe'en was the first visit to Hogsmeade of the school year, and as that was two days away, whispered chatter could be heard throughout all the corridors of the large castle; boys were inviting girls on dates, girls were asking friends to tag along. The Third Year students were practically skipping merrily to their classes, as they'd never visited Hogsmeade before. It was becoming a very exciting time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Draco Malfoy was in a very pissy mood indeed.

"I don't see what all the commotion is about," he whined to his cohorts, Crabbe and Goyle, the night before the Hogsmeade visit. "It's just a bunch of rickety old shops and places that sell stale sweets." He lay on his back atop his four-poster bed, peering at the two boys through a crack in his green velvet hangings.

"You're just angry that you couldn't get a date," Crabbe yawned, tired of hearing Draco complain yet again. "It's fun, and you know it."

"_I_ am perfectly capable of having a date tomorrow. _I_ could have anyone I wanted, any time I wanted, any place I wanted. It comes with being a Malfoy." Draco realized, once the words hit his own ears, how incredibly bored he sounded. It was true, he supposed. He knew he was desired, he heard students whispering about him when he walked by them in the hallways, and he usually waggled his eyebrows or winked to make the day of some sad third year girl. Let it never be said that Draco Malfoy wasn't charitable. He turned onto his side, facing Crabbe and Goyle, who were getting ready to have a game of chess in the common room.

"Chess? Haven't you anything better to do?" he drawled lazily, fighting back a yawn.

"Well, we could always stay in here while you read aloud to us from the paper," Goyle volunteered with a snort. "We suspect you'd rather have a bit of…privacy…while you read, though." 

Draco quickly brought himself to his knees and wrenched open the hangings around his bed, fixing them both with a steely glare. "I've had just about enough of the two of you acting smug and coy. I want to know what happened to the two of you, and I want to know right now. Tell me. Did you take a potion of some kind?"

"No potion," Crabbe replied, pushing a bit of hair out of his eyes. "I don't know why you are so surprised that we've found out your dirty little secret."

"I don't _have_ a dirty little secret, _Vincent_," Draco snapped, and Crabbe's eyes widened in surprise. "I just want to know when you decided to—"

"_Draco_," Goyle interrupted, "There's an article in today's _Prophet_ about the Ministry, and I think there were a few pictures of the Weasleys in the "People" section." 

"Really?" Draco turned and snatched something from under his pillow. "I haven't read it today and—" He looked up. "Oh, no, no, you…" He put down the paper he'd just retrieved and looked livid. "Do you think that's funny?"

"Yes, I think it's very funny," Goyle said, smiling. "We've told you before, if you have some weird obsession with Weasley, we don't mind."

Draco sunk down onto his stomach, pouted, and remained silent.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged knowing looks.

"I'm not a bender," the pale blonde finally said. "My interest in Ronald Weasley is for the purposes of his humiliation and degradation."

"Whatever you say," Crabbe grunted, picking up his chess set. "We're going to play now. Do you want to join us?"

"No." Draco's lips barely moved, and he was staring at the floor beside his bed. "I don't feel well, I think I'll skip Hogsmeade as well. I'm sure I'll feel ill tomorrow." He knew it was a feeble excuse, but he couldn't stop his mind thinking, and it was driving him mad. 

"All right, fine, stay here," Goyle said, walking towards the door, "but there really _is_ something about Weasley's family in the _Prophet. "_

Draco did not move, instead letting his mind wander. He'd heard his father say once (in a conversation with Crabbe's father, as a matter of fact) that the power of suggestion was one of the strongest that existed, and he now believed there was something to that statement. He groaned as he heard the door click behind his friends, flopping over onto his back. For three weeks he had endured Crabbe and Goyle's relentless teasing. For three weeks, Ron Weasley had been ignoring every attempt the smaller Slytherin had made to get him riled up; he smirked at Draco at every opportunity, never once rising to the bait, even when his mother was insulted.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands on his chest, trying not to think about Ron Weasley. "Stupid Crabbe and Goyle," he muttered under his breath. "If they'd never said anything…" 

But they had said something. And now it was all he could do to keep that freckled face out of his mind. It wouldn't go away. He kept picturing Ron angry for some reason---darkened blue eyes, flushed face sprinkled with freckles, an angry grimace..and a chest heaving with deep, irregular breating. Weasley hadn't looked like that for weeks.

He missed it.

"You're cracking up," Draco whispered to himself. "Stop. Thinking. About. Weasley."

It was useless. The more he tried to block the image of a mad, panting Weasley, the more it hung around in his mind's eye. And the more it hung around, the more Draco's stomach churned. He wanted to see that again, he wanted to _cause_ Weasley to go mad with anger. It had never been so glaringly obvious before, but now it seemed so very simple. He growled, a deep throaty sound, picturing how Ron would look the next time he could manage to get under his skin. He would clench his fists, he'd hurl out some swear words, he might even lunge at Draco—

"Dammit," the young Malfoy muttered, pulling his velvet hangings shut with his left hand and sliding his right hand into his trousers quickly. He cursed Crabbe, Goyle, his father, Potter, Granger, and Snape in quick gasps, but his mind could only see one image, and it was the one that finally drove him over the edge, making him very glad his friends were having a long (and hopefully loud) chess game.

He decided while he changed into his pajamas that he _would_ go to Hogsmeade. Miss an opportunity to see Weasley? Not bloody likely.

He drifted to sleep a little while later, but not before reading the "People" section of the _Daily Prophet_. Just for ammunition. 

****

Thanks to Jaime, for pointing out to me that it was 'sweets', and not 'candy'. I forget, you know. Not being from Great Britain and all that. ;) Thanks for making my li'l fic a little less bastardized.

Also thanks to MamaLaz, adrithor, scythe_fire, Dala, Illumina, and LillianaNoelia, for reviewing and being so nice. J 


	4. Foiled Plans and Magical Creatures

****

Rating: Uhm, this chapter is rather tame, probably PG for mild cursing.

Pairing: Ron/Draco (I SWEAR, it's coming), Ron/Hermione (yep)

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: If I owned Ron Weasley or Draco Malfoy, I wouldn't have them locked in my closet. Same goes for the other characters.

Author's note: This is SLASH. OK, well, it's only vaguely (very vaguely) implied in this particular chapter, but it WILL be slash. If you don't like m/m, then this isn't the story for you. Go find an epic saga or something. Have a nice day!

****

THE DAILY PROPHET

__

Chapter 4

Foiled Plans and Magical Creatures

"Can you believe that we've less than a year before we're all out on our own and away from Hogwarts?" Hermione asked with a small sigh as she, Harry, and Ron stood outside Zonko's Joke Shop in Hogsmeade. "It's so sad when things end."

"Well...school will end, but at least we'll all still be friends," Ron said hastily, suddenly feeling panic clench his stomach. He hadn't given one thought to what would happen between the three best friends after their school days were over. 

"Oh, of course we'll all still be friends, Ron," Hermione said soothingly, obviously sensing her friend's sudden distress. "I just meant that we won't be seeing quite so much of each other. You know, all day, seven days a week." The corners of her mouth tipped up slightly, but her eyes were sad and rather wistful. "Late night adventures, sneaking around under invisibility cloaks…"

"Right." Ron nodded and gave her a weak smile. He wondered if he should just get off his arse and ask her out already. She was pointing out how little time they had left, and if he waited too long... 

"What do you think butterflies taste like?" Harry asked suddenly, staring off into space. He turned to look at his two best friends and blinked innocently.

"I...don't know, Harry," he replied, glancing at Hermione for help. She just shrugged helplessly. 

"I bet they taste like butter. It only makes sense, right, mate?" Harry grinned, patting Ron on the back, and walked quickly into the joke shop. Ron stared, open-mouthed, after his friend. Harry had been acting strangely quite often lately, but he got the sudden feeling that Harry had left him and Hermione alone for a reason just now. 

Ron turned his attention back to Hermione, and he chuckled. "We can't separate after Hogwarts..who'll look after Harry?"

She bit back a chuckle. "Honestly, Ron, it's not funny." She brought her hand to her mouth and muffled a giggle. "He's our friend," she mumbled, "we should be more concerned." 

"I *am* concerned! You're the one snickering like you've gone mad!" Ron said in mock indignance, and it only served to make Hermione burst into loud, pealing laughter. Ron watched her face turn red, saw her try and stifle her laughter, and couldn't remember ever feeling happier to be around his female best friend. *Now ask her...* "Say, Hermione..."

"Yes?" Suddenly there wasn't a trace of laughter in the girl's voice now. She took a step closer to Ron and peered up into his face expectantly. "What is it, then?"

"Well, I...You know, I just don't want things to screech to a halt when we leave Hogwarts." He cleared his throat, and tried to feign nonchalance. "So I was wondering..."

"Yes??" Hermione prompted, eyes wide, hands flexing nervously. 

"I think he's trying to ask you on a date, Mudblood," came a drawl from the doorway of Zonko's. 

Draco Malfoy strutted out and put his hands on his hips, tilted his head to one side, and smirked malevolently at the pair of them. Ron was suddenly reminded of an overstuffed peacock, watching the Slytherin try to puff his chest out importantly. "Go away, Malfoy, this doesn't concern you," Ron said coolly. 

"Oh, but it does. I just can't stand by and watch this atrocity happen. I mean, I understand it's hard for you to find someone who'll have you, what with your being a filthy Weasley, but honestly. Granger? You'd do better to ask out Potter." Draco shook his hair out of his eyes. "And everyone knows you'd rather do that, anyway." 

Ron advanced on Draco slowly, and made sure he was staring down into his pale face before speaking again. "I believe I asked you to go away," he said, silently praying his face wasn't as red as he thought it was.

"As terrified as I am, and let me make it clear to you that I'm practically frozen in fright as you can plainly see," Draco muttered sarcastically, stepping closer to Ron until their chests were touching, "I don't have to do anything you tell me to do. I don't answer to filthy Muggle-lovers such as yourself."

"I'm not fighting you," Ron said, smiling broadly when the other boy's face fell quite obviously. "Honestly, Malfoy. Grow up." He stepped back and watched as his enemy clenched his fists. Draco was getting those ugly red blotches on his face, the kind he got when he was really pissed. It was something the redhead had got used to seeing the last few weeks, and he never tired of it. 

Hermione walked over and stood next to Ron, putting her hand on the elbow of his robes and tugging. "Come on, let's go find Harry," she said quietly, shooting daggers at Draco with her eyes. She walked quickly inside.

"You're so good at following orders, Weasley, aren't you?" Draco's voice made Ron's entire body freeze before he could follow Hermione into the shop, and he turned to face the blonde, biting back a growl. Draco seemed to find encouragement at this, and raised his voice in a nearly pitch perfect imitation of Hermione's voice. " 'Come here, Ron. Sit here, Ron. Eat this, Ron. Watch this, Ron. Sit here and wait forever for me, Ron, while I fawn over Harry, won't you?' "

"Stop it," Ron said between clenched teeth. He wasn't going to give in, he wasn't. They were just words, he reminded himself, no need to get worked up after he'd done so well lately. 

"Stop what? Speaking the truth? That Mudblood's got you by the goolies and you know it--" Draco's words were cut off as Hermione stuck her head out of the shop door at that particular moment and sighed very loudly.

"Come on, Ron! Get inside!" Her bushy hair disappeared inside once more and Ron glared at Draco, who held his hand toward the door.

"You see? Perfect example. She orders you around and you take it. In fact, right now, I'm willing to bet that you're dying to get in there, in hopes of some pathetic reward from her. Perhaps a snog or a bit of a bang in an alleyway-- "

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Malfoy," Ron said sharply. 

"I'm sure I don't," Draco replied airily, shrugging. Both boys stood staring at each other for a long moment; Ron's face angrily calm and Draco's face graced with a triumphant half-smile. Ron's eyes narrowed further as Draco's two goons came lumbering behind the silver-haired prat.

"Hey, Malfoy, why did you run from us at the edge of the village?" Crabbe grunted, staring down at his friend. "What were you--"

"Crabbe," Goyle muttered, jutting his chin in the Ron's direction, and suddenly both boys' eyes were on the redhead. 

"Aaaah," Crabbe suddenly said, a grin quickly spreading on his face. "Sorry, Malfoy, we should probably leave the two of you alone."

Ron was utterly bewildered. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know why Crabbe and Goyle were grinning like they'd just been told the N.E.W.T.s were cancelled, but on the positive side, Malfoy's smile was gone. His already alabaster face lost any hint of color, and his mouth dropped open in a rather unattractive gape. 

"You--what--you--I'll--Crabbe--you--" Malfoy spluttered. He glanced at Ron quickly. "I--I--"

It was Ron's turn to smile now. "My, my, Malfoy, all that squeaking and sputtering. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd turned back into a ferret."

"You---" Draco took several deep breaths and tried to calm down, but when he finally spoke, he could only manage a very choppy "Shut up, Weasley."

"Oh, that smarts," Ron said sarcastically. He noticed Crabbe and Goyle had turned to walk away and thought he heard one of them mumble something about "privacy" and "attraction". Well, that was odd, but as he was sure Hermione would be extremely upset if he didn't come in soon, he pushed it out of his mind. "Well, it's been fun, Malfoy, but I'm going inside. Feel free to, you know, go along your merry way. Or jump from a bridge. Entirely up to you." He spun on a heel and walked into the small, stuffy shop, bumping into Harry and Hermione.

"Good of you to finally join us," Hermione said testily, her eyes narrowed. "What did you and Malfoy have to say that could've taken that long?"

"Oh, you know," Ron said breezily, barely supressing his victorious smile, "insults and all that. Nothing important."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Come on, Draco, we've got Care of Magical Creatures next," Vincent Crabbe called mid-day Monday, over the sounds of Goyle singing a very stupid (in Draco's opinion) wizarding love song with stupid lyrics about stupid fate and stupid destiny and stupid love.

Draco squashed a chocolate frog in his hand. Everything about love was stupid. 

"_You are the one witch," _Goyle warbled in an incredibly off key falsetto_, "the one witch I wouldn't switch…baby my wand's on fire…"_

"Shut up, Goyle, I'm _actually_ in pain here!" Draco said, leaning back into the pillows on his squashy bed. "And I'm not going to Care of Magical Creatures. I'd rather stay indoors when it's raining, thank you very much."

"Are you sure it's the rain you're avoiding?" Crabbe asked from his bed, where he was shoving books into his bag. "You never told us what happened on Saturday after we left."

"There was nothing to tell," Draco snapped, sitting up straight and glaring over at his acquaintance with all the hatred he could muster. "And you're fortunate I didn't hex your legs or nose or lips off after your performance outside Zonko's, you know. It was very lucky for you that I had an arm cramp and didn't feel like wasting any energy on raising my wand to you." At the words 'arm cramp', Goyle burst into a guffaw, but quickly stifled it at Crabbe's look. Draco continued. "As it is, I decided to just owl Father and tell him you two weren't cooperating with me lately—"

"Now see here, Malfoy," Goyle said without any trace of the humor he'd felt earlier showing on his face, "if you get me in trouble—"

"Relax," Draco said softly, a sneer appearing on his face, "I was just joking. I haven't done it yet. But I won't hesitate the next time…. do you understand me? I don't know why I've become so charitable towards the two of you lately, but don't expect it to happen again."

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged annoyed looks, and heaved their bags over their shoulders. "So you're really not coming to class?" Goyle asked. "What'll we tell Hagrid?"

"Tell the great dirty oaf I was suffocated by a Lethifold. I really could care less, don't make excuses for me, just go if you're going." He waved them off and turned over on the bed, closing his eyes when he heard the door slam behind them. Head buried in his pillows, he began to think about why he wasn't going to class. _So I won't have to face Weasley, _he thought, then pushed himself up into a sitting position again. Afraid to face Weasley? Draco Malfoy? Hardly. And, after the redhead had been so smug at Hogsmeade, he definitely deserved to suffer at his hands (he pretended not to notice how hot his face was when he thought of his hands on Weasley). _No_, he tried to convince himself, _I just don't want to hear Hagrid drone on in his dead common voice about whatever creature he's making us study today._

He groaned and spoke aloud. "But if I don't go, Weasley will think he's the kittens' mittens for one more day, and I definitely can't have that." Reprimanding himself for using the term 'kittens mittens', he stood and dressed quickly, then swiped hair out of his eyes, knowing he looked decent enough for Hagrid's lesson. He stuffed a book into his bag, along with a copy of that day's** _Daily Prophet_**, and swished out of the room. He ran all the way to Hagrid's hut, stopping just after sighting the tiny shack to prop his hands on his knees and catch his breath. Thank goodness it hadn't rained very long earlier, or mud would've splashed all over his robes, and that just wouldn't have done.

He could hear Hagrid's booming voice before he even saw the large man, talking about a three week assignment they would be expected to take part in.

"There y'are, Malfoy. Yeh're late," Hagrid stated the obvious when Draco arrived. "I've already partnered everyone off, yeh'll have to work alone."

Draco surveyed the site. Hagrid was right, everyone was paired off, working with small, furry little beige creatures. Draco winced when he noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were making funny little cooing noises at their particular little fluffy furball. He scanned the rest of the class. Brown and Patil working together. Bulstrode and Parkinson working together. Finnigan and Thomas, Longbottom and…Zabini?? Draco suddenly spotted something he didn't like. 

"Hagrid, they're working together, there are three of them," Draco blurted, pointing at Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who were all huddled over their creature. Hermione was stroking it and Ron was leaned over, his hand on her shoulder, whispering something to his two friends. 

"So they are," Hagrid grunted, turning to look at the three of them. "Harry, Ron, Hermione…Would one of yeh like ter come an' work with Malfoy?" He flashed them an almost apologetic smile, and Draco wanted to kick his half-giant shins (he couldn't have kicked higher if he wanted to) until he yelped in pain. If that clumsy groundskeeper should've been apologetic to anyone, it should've been _him. _

The three Gryffindors exchanged looks, but remained silent.

Draco shrugged, keeping calm. "On second thought, the prospect of working with one of them makes my skin crawl, so I'll just work alone, thanks." He tried to keep his eyes from wandering to Ron's face as he spoke. 

"All right, go get a Flouzle from the crate, then, "Hagrid nodded. "Reach righ' in there, they're gentle, don' worry."

"I _wasn't_ worried," Draco snapped, walking a few paces to the crate and looking down at the lone Flouzle remaining. It looked like a cross between a cat and a mouse, and it squeaked happily when it looked as though he might get to leave the crate. Draco outwardly let out a disgusted sigh, but inwardly thought the Flouzle was incredibly cute, and rolled up his sleeve before reaching his arm into the crate. His arm bumped into another arm, and Draco's eyes flew to the side. "What the hell are you doing, Weasley?" His voice cracked, but he pushed on, trying to ignore it. "Get back to your group, this is _my_ creature."

"Actually, this is _our_ creature," Ron said casually, pushing Draco's arm to the side and fetching the wiggling lump of fur, which began purring immediately. "We're partners."

A/N: Wheeeeeeeeeeee! Uhm, ok. I'd like to thank anyone and everyone who has reviewed this story so far (especially scythe_fire, who actually checked back and demanded more..LOL). Flouzles are made up simply because I've misplaced my copy of "Fantastic Beasts" and needed to have a creature. Thanks to Jaime, who was "indignant on Ron's behalf". Thanks to all the people on the S.S. Prince and Pauper over at FA (all 8 of you…LOL) for helping and being supportive, even when you weren't aware you were doing so. ****

I fully realize this chapter was sort of…weird. But I promise (and I really mean it this time) that we'll get to the good stuff soon, and it'll make more sense.

****


	5. Up and Coming

****

Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter characters. I asked JKR how much she wanted for Ron and Draco, and she gave me a reeeeally large number. Therefore, don't sue me, because I'm broke from trying to save up.

Summary: The chapter in which nothing happens…

Pairing: Ron/Draco

Rating: R

Spoilers: None 

****

Author's Note/Warning: This lil story of mine is slash, or at least will be if I ever get past plot and to the good stuff. Boys and…boys. If you don't like it... then why the hell are you on chapter five?!? Thanks in advance to Jaime, who made sure I knew that I use "nutters" incorrectly. See? That's why I have to have you around, Jaime!

THE DAILY PROPHET

Chapter 5: Up and Coming

****

"Stroke it!"

"No way, Weasley, I'm not going to put my hands near it."

Ron pushed sweat soaked red hair out of his eyes and groaned. "Malfoy, would you just touch it?"

Draco licked his lips lazily. "You can't make me."

"Oh, for the love of—" Ron flopped onto the soft floor of the greenhouse and gathered the Flouzle in his hands. "You're bloody impossible to work with, Malfoy. How are we supposed to work together for three weeks?!"

Draco studied the redhead for a few moments before chuckling mirthlessly. "If you're not satisfied with me or my work, you shouldn't have volunteered yourself to be my partner."

"I hope you don't think I did that for any reason other than to help out the poor Flouzle. I can't imagine what it'd be like to have to be stuck with you all alone for three weeks," he said coldly. "I know your track history with animals, I'd hate for the poor creature to have to depend on YOU for survival."

"Careful, Weasel," Draco said with a smirk. "You're _almost_ hurting my feelings."

"Oh, that's rich," Ron snapped, watching Draco remove a bit of dirt from under his fingernails. "Malfoys don't HAVE feelings."

Draco snapped his head down in Ron's direction and looked thoughtful. "Well, maybe Weasleys feel too much," he countered as the Flouzle jumped from Ron's hands. It scampered over to Draco and pounced up on his knee, sinking its claws into his trouser leg. "Ouch," he said lazily, grabbing the animal by the scruff of the neck and bringing it to eye level. "So. We're to name this pitiful thing?"

Ron stood and brushed the dirt off of his clothing, casting an annoyed look at the Slytherin. "Yes. Everyone else has named theirs already, we're behind. We haven't—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, get the bee out of your bonnet, Weasley," Draco said with a sigh. "We only got the grimy thing yesterday, we don't even have Hagrid's class again until Thursday." He stared at the creature disdainfully, still holding him out at arm's length. "So, it's a male."

"All Flouzles are males, Malfoy," Ron said, looking in his Care of Magical Creatures text. "It says so right here."

"That's impossible." Draco leaned forward and read silently. "Well, if they're all males, how do they…" his voice trailed as he thought. "Asexual?"

"Of course not. They…they mate." Ron's face went crimson, and he stared at his book, unseeing. 

"Indeed?" An eyebrow raised in mild curiousity. "Interesting." He turned his attention back to the furball squeaking unhappily in his clutches. "So, what shall we name him? I have some ideas."

"So do I," Ron said defiantly. "I think he should be called Chudley."

Draco could absolutely not resist the urge to snort, as unbecoming as it was. "Chudley? Have you gone mad? He's not orange. And…he isn't a loser."

"Well, what do **you** suggest, then?" Ron questioned angrily.

"I was thinking…he looks like an Adonis."

"WHAT?" Ron splurted, laughing hysterically. "He most certainly does NOT look like an Adonis!"

"Fine." Draco pushed Ron's book behind him with his foot and had a seat on it, ignoring Ron's look of indignance. Ron followed suit, sitting on his own bag. They both stared at the creature in silence for a few moments. It began nibbling on Draco's fingers, and Ron was surprised to notice that the blonde boy didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was smiling. Not sneering, not smirking, not laughing coldly, the mean-spirited Slytherin prat was smiling a _genuine smile._

"He's hungry," Draco said suddenly, looking around and losing his smile. "Wasn't the whole purpose of this late night trip to the greenhouse to pick up some Flatterhorn leaves for him to eat?"

"Yes." The Gryffindor stared suspiciously at his partner, then stood to grab some big orange leaves from the nearest Flatterhorn plant. He handed them to Draco, who proceeded to hold them up to the Flouzle's mouth. They were rewarded with several high squeaks and some purring.

"Why don't we just name him something simple, like Fuzzy?" Draco murmured, petting the contented creature softly. 

Ron's mouth fell open. He was quite sure that Malfoy had gone as mad as Harry now. "S-sure…er…all right. Fuzzy." He chuckled a bit, an uncomfortable tittering that nonetheless seemed fitting. "Fuzzy the Flouzle. Has a nice ring."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You're trying to tell me that Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, stroked the Flouzle, smiled at it, and named it Fuzzy?" Hermione shook her head while spreading marmalade on her toast. "Impossible."

"It happened, I tell you!" Ron said, exasperated.

"You shouldn't eat so many eclairs before bed," Hermione insisted, pouring herself some pumpkin juice before reaching across the table to pour some for Ron and Harry. 

"It makes you dream strange things, and then your imagination is overworked. Honestly, you should know that by now."

Ron began to argue, but Hermione had already begun to scold him for making the house elves whip eclairs up for him whenever he felt the desire for one, and he didn't feel like listening to her ranting. He stared down at his breakfast for a moment. "It was like he was almost human," Ron blurted, then groaned. _Damn it. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. It's like a sickness._

Hermione took her nose out of the book she was reading, Facts, Fiction, and Fluffiness: A Definitive Study of Flouzles, and stared at Ron. "You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious!" sputtered Ron. "D'you think I'd joke over something like that? Is there some kind of spore or something that Flouzles put out that makes the person holding them soften up?" He leaned across the table, craning his neck to look into Hermione's book.

"Honestly, Ron, all animals can soften up people." She grinned at Pig, who was now twittering around Ron's plate excitedly. He hooted happily, nipping at Ron's hand. 

"Oi! Stop that!" Ron said, pushing the owl away with the back of his hand.

"Well, animals can soften people most of the time," she amended her statement, frowning at Ron and pulling Pig to her side of the table, offering up some of her corn flakes as two owls came flying over to Ron at once. 

"What, more mail? Pig brought me a letter back from Mum already," He said, annoyed, as both owls landed next to his plate of sausages. Pig nearly went mad, hooting and bouncing around so much that Hermione had to gently turn a goblet over on him for a moment so as to be able to get him into her hand to prevent his movement.

"Popular this morning, aren't you?" Hermione grinned. She watched in amusement as one of the owls, a Eurasian Tawny, stared up at Ron curiously with its foot held out, almost as if he were standing at a bizarre form of military attention. It began to wobble a bit before Ron frowned and untied the thick envelope attached to its leg. It wasted no time in flying away, and Ron put the envelope to the side as he reached for the leg of the second owl. It was a Great Grey, and it looked at Ron with as much disdain as an owl could muster. Ron untied the small note attached, and the owl stayed in place. "I think he's waiting for a reply," Hermione said when Ron looked at the owl in confusion, rubbing her index finger over the top of Pigwidgeon's head, which appeared to be putting him to sleep.

Ron nodded and opened the note. The small, neat handwriting was unfamiliar, but the words were not. He started mumbling the note aloud.

__

"Muggle-lover,

I have Quidditch practise after lessons today, so you'll have to go to the greenhouses without me. In fact, I'm busy all week, so if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer if you'd just finish the project without me, as it's filthy work and you're used to that—"

"Yes, I can tell he's a changed man," Hermione chortled.

"That git," Ron said, crumpling the note, then promptly uncrumpling to write a response on the other side. He yanked one of Hermione's quills from beside her books and wrote sloppily:

__

Malfoy,

Get bent. You're doing the project. Meet me in the Entrance Hall at 8 to go get leaves to feed Fuzzy.

Weasley

"Maybe you can make some sort of contraption that makes it possible for Draco to always hold Fuzzy," said Harry brightly, speaking for the first time since they'd arrived at breakfast. 

"I wouldn't dare do that to the poor creature," Ron said seriously to Harry. "Malfoy'd have it annoyed to death just from looking at his ferrety face." He shook his head and went back to the thick envelope, tearing it open and taking out a rather short piece of parchment.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, releasing Pig. He flew off to the Owlery much more subdued than usual.

"It's..a letter from the **Daily Prophet**. They want to do a profile on me." The redhead stared, amazed, at the letter in front of him. "A short profile..on _me_." A grin lit up his face. "Apparently I'm their choice for _Up and Coming Wizard_ for November."

"Wow, that's great, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Are they coming here to get information or an interview, or—"

"Well, they have a questionnaire they want me to answer. I have to send that and a picture to them by the 15th. That is…if I choose to do this." He bit his lip. It would be really nice to be in the paper on his own merit. _Then again_, he thought bitterly, _what have I done that merits me being in the paper? Harry's the hero, I'm just a Weasley. Just his sidekick…_

"You can't mean you won't do it," Hermione gasped. "I think it's wonderful! You! In the paper! You have to do it so I can clip it and put it in my journal."

Ron looked at his friend in surprise. "You'd do that?" He was pleased to see her cheeks turn very pink.

"Of course I would," she said softly. "So start answering those questions. Are they really personal questions?"

Ron studied the questionnaire. "_'Who are your heroes?' 'You play Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team at Hogwarts, what led you to that position?' 'Any special witch or wizard in your life?' _Well, what rubbish." His ears began to redden.

"Ah, so they're obviously going for the deep subject material," Hermione giggled.

"You can tell them about the time you rescued the Philosopher's Stone from Quirrell's evil clutches!" Harry suggested.

"That was you, Harry," Hermione and Ron said at the same time.

"Oh. Right. Well, you can tell them about the time you conjured that Patronus against those dementors—"

"Again. You. Harry." Hermione fought to keep the smile from her face.

"Right. Well, I'm fresh out of ideas then. I'm off to find my hair ribbons, I think Seamus had them last." With that, Harry left the Great Hall, tapping every single Slytherin on the head on his way out, making them sprout beans in their hair, but pointedly skipping over Pansy Parkinson.

"Between Harry, working with Malfoy and this newspaper thing, I'm going to go absolutely bananas," Ron muttered to himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I see you finally made it."

"You didn't give me a fucking choice, Weasel."

"Language, Malfoy." Ron smirked. "And you're right. You don't have a choice."

"Well, if we're going to do this, then let's do it. I have work to do in the dormitory." Draco's eyes narrowed as he noticed widening grin. "What the hell are you smiling at?"

"The mere idea of you ever doing work is amusing."

"Fuck you." Ron's smile faded. He knew Malfoy wasn't all warm and cuddly, but he didn't remember him being this angry at any time. And he didn't remember ever hearing Malfoy curse at all. He didn't bother wiping the shock off of his face. 

"What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, what, being stuck in the greenhouses at night with you isn't enough to make me want to jump from the Astronomy Tower?" Draco's voice was steadily rising; he was now talking in a low shriek. Ron backed away from the blond quickly.

"Calm down, Malfoy—"

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down!!" Draco advanced on Ron, snaking an arm out and reaching up to grab a handful of the fiery hair. "You're nothing, Weasley, nothing. Lower than dirt, scum on the bottom of a shoe. You're worthless, you'll never be anything to anyone. In fact, if you were to end your sad, miserable, pathetic existance tonight, not a single person would miss you. Not one. Well, maybe your family, but they're nobodies too."

Ron, too shocked to react properly, reached up to remove Draco's hand from his head, where he was ruthlessly twisting and yanking the hair, and couldn't. "Let go of me! What the hell—what's wrong with you?" He tried twisting away, but the grip on his hair tightened, and Draco lifted his other hand to Ron's hair. This was no ordinary fight; Ron looked into Draco's face but the Slytherin's eyes held no emotion. In fact, they were vacant, as if Draco wasn't even there. Ron cried out in pain as he felt some of his hair being torn out. 

"Ow! Damn it, Malfoy, what the hell are you doing?!" Ron brought his fist up, but couldn't get a clear swing at Draco, his arms were in the way, right in front of his face. He brought a knee up and was rewarded with Draco letting go and dropping to his knees. "What. The. Fuck. is going on with you?"

The pale boy groaned in pain and looked up. "Weasley?"

"Yes, Weasley, who did you expect?" Ron spat, rubbing his head and wincing. "You tore my hair out, you slimy—"

"How did I get in here?" 

"What?" Taken aback, Ron folded his arms over his chest. "You walked here with me. We met in the Entrance Hall. You can't have forgotten that quickly. We were coming here to get some food for our Flouzle."

"Where's the Flouzle?" Draco stood feebly.

"Where's the—he's out in the paddock! Have you gone insane?!" Ron's face burned bright red. "You just attacked me, I should kick your sorry arse—"

"How did I get in here?" Draco repeated, looking around in confusion. "When did I come here?"

"I just told you. You honestly don't remember getting here?" Ron's anger started to fade, quickly replaced by bewilderment. 

"I was just…," Draco said, more firmly this time, "I was just playing with Goyle..playing chess with Goyle…after potions class…that's the last thing I remember." He looked out the windows. "It's dark."

Ron's jaw dropped as he stared at Draco. "Potions? Blimey, Malfoy, that was over eight hours ago!"

I'd like to send thanks to Tas, Jaime, Maud, and all the girls/guy at the S.S. Prince and Pauper. Also a big happy thank you to my reviewers, I told you I'd continue! I just didn't realize how long it would take. Stay tuned. 


	6. Who's Who?

****

Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter characters. I asked JKR how much she wanted for Ron and Draco, and she gave me a reeeeally large number. Therefore, don't sue me, because I'm broke from trying to save up.

Summary: …just READ IT

Pairing: Ron/Draco

Rating: R

Spoilers: None 

****

Author's Note/Warning: The Slash is coming. Oh, yes. Also a little " 'tween time" insert, featuring Harry and Pansy. And yes, this story features Smart!Crabbe and Goyle and Crazy!Harry. Or so everyone thinks.

****

THE DAILY PROPHET

Chapter 6: Who's Who?

"What did you do to me?!" 

Gregory Goyle's head snapped up from the magazine he was reading on his bed at the sound of the shrill voice coming from the doorway of the Slytherin 7th years dormitory. Confused, he turned in the direction of the disturbance. "What happened to you? You look like sh-"

"What did you do?" Draco was slamming into the dormitory, and chucked the book under his arm in Goyle's general direction. It hit the wall with a thud and fell in the space between his and Crabbe's bed. "What the hell did you do to my mind?"

"Calm down," Goyle said, standing and walking cautiously toward his acquaintance, who looked as if he had just been through a thousand-bludger bonanza. His usually immaculate hair was sticking up in odd angles, his eyes were wild, and he had scratches all over his face and hands. Goyle took a closer look at Draco's closed left fist-and was very shocked to see something bright orange sticking out. "Why do you-is that hair?"

Draco simply advanced on the burly boy, face contorting in pain as he walked forward. "It's Weasley's hair."

Goyle's eyes widened, and he drew a sharp intake of breath. "Shit, Draco, you didn't….you didn't kill him…d-d-did you?"

"Of course I didn't kill him," the blond snapped, his eyes reverting back to their usual narrow, calculating look as he sat on his own bed. "This has been a strange….What did we do after Potions?"

"What are you on about? You look horrible, Draco, you sure you don't want to lie down?" 

"Just tell me what we did after Potions, you idiot!" 

Goyle frowned, but answered matter-of-factly. "We played chess, then we went to dinner, then back here, then you said you had to meet Weasley at the greenhouse and you got dressed. Then you left, and now you're back, acting like you're two sickles short of a Galleon." He sat back down on his bed. "Now do you mind explaining why you were ready to knock my head off with a book?" 

"Where's Crabbe?"

"He went for a walk, he'll be back soon. Stop changing the subject, would you? Why do you have Weasley's hair?"

Draco glared at his cohort in annoyance. "I was going to make a Polyjuice Potion," he drawled sarcastically, sighing. "I don't know. Something very strange and unsettling is happening, and I'm not sure what to make of it."

"Well…?"

"Oh, fine." Goyle was relieved that Draco finally seemed as if he'd tell him what was going on, it was visible in his chubby face. The smaller Slytherin fell back onto his bed. "I don't remember anything after our chess game this afternoon. In fact, I don't even remember our chess game ending. Or coming back here. Or meeting Weasley." He yawned. "I remember our playing chess, I remember….anyway, the next thing I remember is a sharp pain in my…"

"Your..?" Goyle was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes wide.

"Weasley had kicked me below the belt," Draco said flatly. "I just remember being in incredible pain, and all of a sudden he's yelling at me and screaming that I've torn his hair out. "

"Draco," Goyle said seriously, "I don't understand. I don't understand how you can't remember, I mean, we talked all afternoon and even when you were getting ready to go meet Weasley. You were saying how it was all a waste of time and how you'd rather eat a live flobberworm than work with him again."

"Well, as true as that is, I have no memory of that," came the muttered reply. Draco yawned and rolled so that he was facing the dormitory wall. "I am exhausted….don't know…why…" He was soon fast asleep; Goyle could tell by his slow and steady breathing. 

With a pensive look, Goyle brought the blanket up around his friend, extinguished the lights, and slipped out of the dormitory. He was in the common room only two minutes when Vincent Crabbe came through the portrait hole, red-faced and panting. "Oi, over here!" Goyle yelled, motioning for his friend to join him in the dimmest corner of the room.

"What's up?" Crabbe sat in a plush armchair, slung his bag down, and caught his breath. "Did it work?"

"Of course it didn't work, you dolt," Goyle snapped. "What did you do? I thought you were making a potion to make Draco more suggestible to…er..things. He went completely crazy!"

"What? I made the potion exactly as it said in the text!" Crabbe reached into his bag and extracted the text to which he referred, a battered old book that looked older than Hogwarts itself, and flipped to the pages he had marked with a scrap of parchment. "Oh. I forgot the boomslang skin."

"Crabbe, you idiot!" Goyle rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "All right. So that didn't work, and if we're lucky, Draco won't die for your stupid mistake. But what are we going to do now?"

"Why should we do anything?" Crabbe put his book away and leaned back into his chair lazily. "I say we just leave Draco to his own devices. He'll get it eventually."

But Goyle didn't believe that. He sat in silence for a few minutes more, then he and his friend made their way to the dormitory. Crabbe fell into bed automatically, snoring loudly within three minutes. Goyle, mind still whirring, stood over the sleeping Malfoy once more, racking his brain for a solution.

Inspiration came in the form of several strands of bright red hair, which Draco Malfoy still held clenched in his fist. Goyle smiled to himself, quickly plucking a single strand from the collection and silently thanking Draco for the idea brewing in his mind.

__

Why do you have Weasley's hair?

I was going to make a Polyjuice Potion.

Perfect.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So, Ron," Hermione said from behind her stack of books at their table in the library on Sunday morning, "You never talk about your feeding sessions with Malfoy anymore. Have they become…dare I say it…pleasant?" She smirked, knowing full well that Ron would rather eat Bubotuber pus than work with Malfoy.

"Try mundane," Ron said sleepily, flipping through an old battered library copy of Those Wacky Werewolves and yawning. "He's become a total bore. He doesn't even talk, he just sits there and feeds Fuzzy, and after an hour or so, just leaves and comes back to the castle."

"At least he's doing his work," she replied thoughtfully, bringing her elbow up on the table and propping her chin on her upturned palm. She was incredibly glad that Harry was her partner, although their last meeting had resulted in Harry trying to barbecue their Flouzle, Chester, as he wanted to see if it would 'taste like chicken'. "So what was it that happened the other night, again?"

"I told you. He flipped and tried to kill me. Just your average, run of the mill Wednesday night between Malfoys and Weasleys." He looked up at her and snorted. "I know it's stupid, but I wish he'd act like a prat again."

"He's probably just troubled about what happened the other night. Maybe he's embarrassed." 

"Embarrassed?! Malfoy?" Ron fumed, closing his book and pulling Take the Money and Run: A History of Gringotts Security through the Ages off Hermione's stack. "Yeah. Right. And Harry is dating Pansy Parkinson."

Hermione and Ron both burst into laughter, earning them a glare from Miss Pince, the librarian. "Sorry," Hermione murmured to the stern woman, still smiling. "Seriously, though, Ron," she said more softly, turning back to her friend, "as much as Malfoy hates you, I doubt he'd physically attack you like that unless something was really wrong. Think about it. He's always had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up. And you're a foot taller than him, nearly! There's no way he'd attack you in his right mind."

Ron mumbled something about siding with the enemy, and Hermione glowered at him. He shifted in his seat. "Sorry, Hermione. But you're right, he's acting very strange. And he says he didn't remember attacking me…but Malfoy's lied before."

"Have you tried asking him anything more since Wednesay?"

"Were you listening when I said Malfoy doesn't talk? He doesn't. Talk, that is. I talk for the both of us. And the entire time, I have to make sure he's not coming up behind me with pruning shears or something. He just sits in a little corner, feeds Fuzzy, and I can tell, he's plotting my demise every single second of the time."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed, sounding exactly as she had for seven years whenever she felt Ron was being too hasty in judging situations. "I don't know…maybe it has something to do with You-Know-Who…"

"Do you think he's trying to control Malfoy or something? Maybe get him to do his dastardly evil deeds?" Ron looked extremely overjoyed at the possibility that Draco Malfoy could be the Dark Lord's puppet, and Hermione frowned again.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," she snapped, lowering her voice to a hiss. "I'm only saying that there's a possibility that Lucius Malfoy could be responsible for his son's behaviour. Who knows what goes on with the Malfoys when we're not looking."

"Who cares what goes on when we're not looking? You can bet your last sugar quill that it's going to be evil, no matter what it is! That whole family lives in the Dark Lord's pocket, there's no doubt in my mind." Ron leaned back in his chair and propped his arms behind his head, closing his eyes.

"I'm sure that's the truth," Hermione said solemnly, then noticed the thing that had made her ask Ron to escort her to the library to begin with sticking out of her Potions text. "Oh! I very nearly forgot! I didn't know if you'd seen this yet, it was in this morning's Daily Prophet!" She yanked the bit of parchment out of her book and thrust it under Ron's nose. He took it promptly and his eyes widened at the small photo of himself that caught his attention—it wasn't the photo he'd sent of himself at all. He'd made sure to have Colin Creevey take a picture of him in his Quidditch attire, standing on the pitch. The picture featured at the top of what he supposed was his profile, was a picture of him wearing slinky black robes and winking charmingly at the camera. A picture he had no recollection of posing for.

"It's—it's not me!" he rasped, staring down in horror at himself. Picture Ron was now blowing kisses up at Real Ron and smiling so widely that every single tooth was showing. "It looks like…Lockhart!"

"I think it's a wonderful picture, Ron," Hermione said sincerely. "The profile they did on you was even better."

"But my freckles—I have freckles, what've they done with them?!"

"Just read it, Ron!"

Feeling nauseous at the prospect of reading the profile, but knowing he needed to before the teasing began, Ron let his eyes wander farther down on the clipping.

"This month's Up And Coming Wizard is none other than Ronald Weasley, son of Arthur Weasley, the Minister for Magic. Ronald has graciously agreed to answer some of the questions you—the readers—had for him.

Name: Ronald Weasley, Ron for short.

Age: 17

Hair Colour: Red

Eye Colour: Blue

What's it like being Harry Potter's best friend?

****

I suppose it's like being anyone's best friend. We have fun together, Harry's a great bloke.

Do you play Quidditch?

****

I'm one of the Gryffindor House Beaters.

Any special witches or wizards in your life?

****

No, I don't think so…

"Well, so far it's not too bad," Ron sighed in relief, then continued to read. Hermione looked down at her books again just in time to hear Ron's loud gasp.

"What? What is it?"

"This—they made this up! I didn't tell them this!" He glared at the paper, as if wishing it to disintegrate on the spot.

"Tell them what? Ron, what is it?" Hermione leaned across the table and grabbed his hand to bring the article to her side.

"If you could spend five minutes as anyone else in the wizarding world, who would you choose and why? " Ron read aloud, his face darkening with red colour. "Do you know what they have here?????! **'Probably Draco Malfoy. We'd all like to stay at Malfoy Manor, wouldn't we? That'd be the life.' **What rubbish! As if I'd like to smarm around and get dark marks and stare at my hair in the mirror all day, avoiding sunlight!"

"Miss Granger, Mister Weasley," Miss Pince's irritated, whispered voice came from behind them. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave here if you can't keep it down this morning."

"We're sorry," Hermione said meekly, still thunderstruck. She waited until Miss Pince left before attempting to speak to Ron again. "I must not have seen that," she said, as Ron made a sound like an angry cat. "They can't just print that sort of thing if it isn't true!"

"Hermione, it's the Daily Prophet! Remember Rita Skeeter?!" Ron jumped out of his seat and started to shake in anger. "My whole family is going to see this! All my friends! MALFOY!"

"Ron, calm down! Ron—"

Miss Pince was over in a flash. "That is it. I suggest you go otherwise for your studies today, Mister Weasley," she said in a tight voice. "Now."

Ron grabbed his bookbag and ran out, not bothering to say goodbye to Hermione. No, he had to figure out how to fix this. "See?" he shouted to himself as he tore through the empty corridors of the school. "THIS is why I didn't want to do the article! Stupid, stupid, stupid---" He stopped yelling when he felt his foot catch something, and he hurtled forward, landing splayed on the ground. He muttered a few expletives and brought himself up on all fours, picking up fallen papers and books. He suddenly felt something on his back, like a person sitting, and his eyes grew wide. What? Someone was using him as a bench?! The weight on his back shifted, and he felt something tickling his neck.

"Weasley," he heard drawled out from just above the back of his head. "Why ever didn't you tell me you wanted to stay at my house? If I had known, I'd have invited you long ago."

Malfoy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

****

Thanks to my girls. You know who you are.

__


End file.
